


to love what is mortal

by Digitalis_Obscura



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Everyone is fine, Jim is just worried about his (boy)friend, M/M, but that might just be me, i feel like this is just ninety percent eye contact, i wrote most of this in a haze at three am, in which jim kirk handles isolation about as well as i do, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Digitalis_Obscura/pseuds/Digitalis_Obscura
Summary: It started out as a seemingly innocuous supply run. Things got slightly out of hand from there.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	to love what is mortal

**Author's Note:**

> can’t believe this is gonna be my first fic in a new fandom but here i am. this is how i’m coping with 2020.
> 
> i got tired of looking at it, enjoy.

It started out as a seemingly innocuous supply run. They had been in regular contact with the command staff of the remote outpost on Epsilon IX and everything was in order, with only a minor delay involving a malfunctioning transporter that was quickly resolved.

Spock insisted on beaming down, stating a need to personally supervise the loading of the new science equipment. Jim assigned several ensigns to help, despite Spock’s numerous protests. Jim himself went simply because he had nothing better to do, and couldn’t resist an opportunity to get a cup of real coffee, one of the few luxuries the outpost could offer.

Or at least, the coffee was a convenient excuse. Jim was reluctant to admit, even to himself, the real reason he had been unwilling to remain on the ship for the few hours it would take to transport and situate the supplies but, hands wrapped around a cup of fresh coffee that he suddenly had no interest in drinking, he watched Spock’s eyebrow raise in a singular look of disdain directed at an ensign who had nearly dropped a crate and was forced to accept that he was here because he was unwilling to let Spock out of his sight. 

An accident during a first contact mission earlier that month had left Spock on restricted duty for two weeks, and Jim had perhaps been more affected by his concern than he had at first realized. When they were both on the ship, it was easy to assure himself that Spock was safe, as they rarely strayed from one another during their shared shifts, and often gravitated together during leisure hours as well.

But he couldn’t deny the flare of panic that rose in him when Spock requested permission to oversee the reload himself. And it was, if he was being honest, that panic that had led to Jim assigning himself to the shore party as well. 

He was startled from his thoughts by the press of fingers against his wrist, there and gone just fast enough to get his attention, refusing to linger. He looked up from his untouched coffee at Spock, who took a step back out of Jim’s space, faint amusement lingering in his eyes. Jim had a sneaking suspicion that his first officer had been trying to get his attention for quite some time while he had been lost in thought.

“Everything is aboard and we are ready to beam back up, Captain. If you are finished with your business here?” His eyes slid to the still-full cup in Jim’s hand— his flimsy reasoning for being here in the first place, now proven false— and the faint amusement shifting to soft curiosity before he looked back to Jim’s face. The eye contact held just a beat too long before Jim remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

He commed the ship, and Scotty had them back in the transporter room aboard the Enterprise moments later. 

“Comm me as soon as you hear from the science labs that they’re ready to go, we have to be at Argus IV in four days and I’d like to get underway as soon as possible.” Jim had hardly finished the order and stepped off the transporter pad when alarms started going off throughout the room and the door sealed itself with a pneumatic hiss. He turned to Scotty, who was still standing at the transporter controls, but before he could ask what the hell was going on, the intercom whistled. McCoy was already yelling before he pushed the button to answer.

“-im, I got an emergency report that we just beamed up a level six contagion. What the hell did you do?”

“It was just me and Spock, we didn’t bring anything up with us. Could it be an error?”

“You had better hope it’s an error, Jim. Level six means deadly and highly contagious. It’s a starship doctor’s worst nightmare.” 

“Then we had better figure this out. Come to the transporter room, take all available precautions. Kirk out.” He turned to the other two people in the room, and only just managed to fight the urge to sigh.

“Mr. Spock, any insights on where we may have picked up some kind of bug, and how?”

“While the Epsilon IX outpost is remote enough to have little traffic, there are a great many viruses and bacteria that may live on surfaces for a period of time. Contact with any such surface could have been enough to transfer the contagion to one of us.”

“Hopefully it’s an error. Bad luck for you Scotty, that you happened to be the one to beam us up.”

There was the muffled sound of swearing outside the door, and Jim turned to face it, fighting a smile as he listened to Bones bitch at the control panel. He was still complaining as the door slid open to admit him, dressed in a biohazard suit.

“I’m a doctor, I know about containment protocols, I don’t need a computer telling me how to do my job.” He turned his glare from the closing door onto Jim, who was no longer trying to contain his smirk. “Don’t know why you look so happy, you aren’t getting out of this room for a while. Got quite a few tests to run before we know what’s wrong. Best sit down, all three of you.” 

—

“It’s Argellian White Fever. Highly contagious and deadly without treatment, but only about fifty percent of people are susceptible to its effects. Transmitted by plant life. Always said the psychological benefits of potted plants on an outpost were far outweighed by the risks, maybe now someone will listen.” Scotty had already been cleared, showing no signs of contamination, and it was just Jim and Spock left to the mercy of Bones and his scanners. It had taken an hour for the final tests to come back and they had spent most of that hour in deeply uncomfortable silence after Jim’s numerous attempts at conversation had fallen flat. He had never been so relieved to hear a tricorder beep in his life.

“I’m putting the two of you on quarantine for a few days until we find out if you’re symptomatic. I want you in your quarters, no contact with any of the crew until further notice.” He cut Jim off with a sharp jerk of his hand before he could start to object. “No! I have medical authority here, I don’t know how dangerous this could be. No contact, a week to be safe.” 

And really, Jim couldn’t argue with that. He said nothing about the biohazard suit Bones forced him into, nor the fact that the doctor ordered the halls cleared while he marched Jim and Spock to their respective quarters, leaving them both with a glare and an order to contact him if either of them began to display symptoms. And then Jim was left with nothing to do for the next week.

—

Jim Kirk did not handle boredom well. He was accustomed to constant activity, several things vying for his attention at all times as captain of a starship, and without his duties he was left with little to keep himself occupied.

The first day went smoothly enough. He had a mountain of paperwork that had been put on the back burner in favor of his more important duties for months and he was finally able to work through most of it in a few hours. He read a book Spock had lent him on the early space travels of the Vulcan people, and if he went to bed a little earlier than usual, well that could hardly be a bad thing.

He started to get restless the second day. Having finished all of his paperwork backlog, and then Spock’s book early in the day, he tried to entertain himself with a new publication on warp science he had saved to his personal terminal to read when he found time. But, after several minutes of fruitlessly rereading the first paragraph, Jim was forced to admit that his attention was firmly elsewhere.

He had heard nothing from Bones, nor had any of the rest of the crew contacted him for anything. He commed Scotty for an update on their progress to Argus IV and was told in no uncertain terms that Bones had instructed his crew not to tell him anything relevant to their mission unless there was an emergency.

“Sorry, sir. I will certainly keep you updated if anything goes wrong, but beyond that I have my orders from the good doctor.”

He clenched his first under the cover of his desk, the only outward sign of frustration he was willing to permit himself. His voice was steady when he replied. 

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Scott. I think maybe I’ll have a chat with Doctor McCoy.” He ended the call, and immediately commed sickbay.

“What are you playing at, shutting me out of my ship’s operations? I might be on quarantine but there’s nothing stopping me from keeping up to date with the goings on of my ship!” 

The small measure of control he had maintained while speaking to Scotty fractured under the weight of his irritation, and Bones bit back with the same amount of frustration. “With all due respect, Captain, if I let you do that, before I know it you’ll be insisting that you’re needed on the bridge for some crisis, or that you have to attend to some part of the mission personally. I know you, Jim. You are staying in that room for the next five days if I have to lock you in there myself. Spock too, he’s been just as bad. Never met two people so reluctant to take a damn break.” Bones ended the call before Jim could say anything in reply. He clenched his fists once more, fighting to control the spark of anger at McCoy’s tirade. The doctor was right, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

The rest of what Bones had said finally registered and Jim couldn’t help the soft chuckle he let out at the thought of Spock’s determined arguments of his own fitness for duty. Which left Jim wondering how Spock was keeping himself busy, if he was okay. Jim hadn’t shown any symptoms so far but he had no way to know if Spock had.

That familiar itchy feeling that had led to him insisting on beaming down to Epsilon IX was back, the need to keep an eye on Spock, to be sure his friend didn’t come to any harm. It was a completely irrational urge, Jim knew. Their lives were filled with risk, by necessity, and such concern for a specific member of the crew wasn’t sensible, but Jim could admit that his feelings with regard to his first officer were hardly sensible. 

Seeing Spock unconscious in sickbay after taking a blow to the head from an over-excited guard during a mission that was supposed to have been completely safe snapped a few things into place for Jim. The thought of losing Spock was enough to make him sick and he knew the emotion behind that was not entirely that of friendship.

None of which made his incessant need to assure himself of Spock’s well-being any more reasonable. 

Frustrated, he pushed up from his seat at his desk, pacing in front of the door, trying to relieve some of his pent up energy. Unbidden, his eyes fell on the door to the bathroom, the door to the only thing separating him from Spock, and the assurance that his first officer really was okay. He forced himself to turn away, instead lying fully clothed on his bed and dimming the lights. He didn’t sleep much that night.

—

“Honestly, Bones. I’m going crazy. It’s been three days, I’ve finished my whole backlog of paperwork, read every single report I’ve received in the past month, and finished three books. If I don’t get something to do-“ McCoy cut him off mid-rant.

“Jim, I don’t know what to tell you! I know you aren’t going to put your crew at risk because you’re bored, so find yourself something to do. Something that isn’t bothering me. I’ve got things to do.” 

“Just give me an update on our status. Are we progressing to Argus on schedule?”

“I told you, you needn’t concern yourself with the ship, your only worry right now should be your own health. Now if you don’t mind, I have a sickbay to run.” The screen went dark and Jim slammed his hand on the desk, frustration momentarily getting the better of him.

Jim was irritated, and he really was going out of his mind from boredom. There was only so much to occupy himself with in his quarters, and he had long since run through everything he needed to do. He found himself wondering, once again, how Spock was managing to keep himself occupied, and was startled from his thoughts by a knock on the door. 

The bathroom door.

“Come in.” It had to be Spock, he was aware, but it was still a surprise when the door opened and his first officer stepped into his quarters, the door sliding shut behind him, and Jim momentarily forgot any greeting he had planned.

Eventually, though, the silence reminded Jim that he needed to say something. “What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”

“I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation with Doctor McCoy. It was quite loud.” Jim grimaced, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He had perhaps been a bit louder than was strictly polite in his attempts to convince Bones to let him do something, letting his annoyance get the better of him.

“My apologies, Mr. Spock.”

“It’s quite alright, Captain. I confess some dissatisfaction of my own at the situation.”

“He might as well have put a full embargo on my communications, for all I’m allowed to talk about anything useful. It’s not as if I’m fool enough to risk everyone’s lives on a whim!” 

“Indeed, Captain.” Spock’s voice gave nothing away, but the uptick of his eyebrow and the faint humor in his eyes was clue enough.

“You agree with him! Why does everyone think I can’t take a doctor’s advice?”

“Captain, you have released yourself from sickbay, against medical recommendation, 35.5 times since the start of our mission. You are perfectly willing to disregard Doctor McCoy’s advice if you believe you are in some way necessary for the safety of the ship. While this is not a bad trait in a Captain, and is in fact one I find most admirable, in this case it would be more to the detriment of the ship for you to override the doctor’s orders.”

Jim wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and was rather hung up on the word ‘admirable’ besides, so he said the first thing he thought of.

“Point five? How have I released myself against orders thirty five point five times?”

“You were midway through signing your release forms when Doctor McCoy- grudgingly I would say- declared you fit for duty.”

Jim laughed, his earlier anger melting away easily in Spock’s company. “I had forgotten about that, actually. I think he just didn’t want to have to do the extra paperwork.”

“I do believe you are correct, Captain.”

“Why don’t you have a seat, maybe we can play a game of chess. I’m going out of my mind and I could use the company.” Even as he said it, Jim wished he could take it back. It was such a simple request but some part of him felt like he had revealed too much, expressed too much of a desire for Spock’s presence. He was relieved when Spock merely nodded his assent and moved to take a seat at the table.

He took a moment to compose himself as he retrieved the chess set, mentally chastising his foolish heart for overreacting. He forced himself to meet Spock’s eyes as he sat down across from him, chess board set between them.

Lifting both hands in fists around two pawns, he held them out to Spock. The gentle touch of his fingers to Jim’s left hand, the tips barely brushing his knuckles and lingering half a second longer than was necessary, was enough to make Jim break eye contact once more as he held out the white pawn toward Spock.

“Guess that means you’re first, Mr. Spock.” 

They played in easy silence for the first few moves, Spock playing cautiously and Jim barreling recklessly ahead, the routine of it soothing the lingering agitation in Jim’s mind. Between the calming rhythm of the game, and the reassuring presence of Spock across the table from him, Jim found a quiet sort of peace that he only felt in these moments.

Jim lost the first game, and the second. He knew he wasn’t entirely focused on what he was doing, that his attention was more focused on Spock than on the game they played. Cataloguing his behaviour and expressions for any sign that he was in less than perfect health. While he personally had shown no symptoms thus far, he couldn’t shake the ever present concern for Spock, and even as their easy ritual soothed him, his mind wandered again to the welfare of the man across from him.

As he moved to set up for another game, Spock halted him with a gentle hand on his wrist, fingers brushing against his pulse.

“You seem distracted, Captain. Are you well?”

“What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a little…” He made a vague gesture with his free hand, attention caught by the warm touch still holding the other still. Realizing that Spock was waiting for something more, he shook himself and looked up from their hands, fixing his gaze on a point just over Spock’s shoulder. 

“I think maybe I’m tired, that’s all. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well. But what about you? Are you well, Spock? Any symptoms? Would this illness present differently in you than in a human? Would-“ He cut himself off before he could truly begin to ramble, and made himself look at Spock.

His first officer looked faintly bemused, but the concern was gone from his eyes, and his voice, when he spoke, was tinged with gentle humor. 

“I’m quite alright, Captain. The symptoms of Argellian White Fever are the same in Vulcans as they are in humans. I see no reason why they should be any different for me. And as of yet, I have exhibited none of them. I assure you, sir, there is no need for concern.”

He still hadn’t moved his hand, leaving it seemingly forgotten on Jim’s arm, and the awareness of it was impeding Jim’s ability to think of a reply. He held Spock’s gaze, and as he watched, the bemusement faded from his eyes, replaced with a kind of intensity, an emotion Jim didn’t have a name for, one that he couldn’t look away from.

The moment ended as quickly as it had started, Spock breaking eye contact and gently removing his hand from Jim’s. Jim mentally shook himself and resumed setting the board for another game.

-

The next day there was another knock, and Jim tried not to look surprised when Spock immediately sat across from him at the table after Jim called for him to enter. He was out of uniform, unlike the day before, wearing dark robes instead of his science blues. Jim couldn’t shake the feeling that he looked softer somehow, edges less defined, more at ease than Jim remembered ever seeing him before. 

He realized with a start that he had been staring, and that Spock had yet to say anything in creating, and in fact seemed to be studying Jim intently in return. He shifted in his seat, before standing abruptly and going to the replicator.

“Hungry? I was just about to eat and I would hate to be rude, but I’m not sure what all I can offer.”

Spock didn’t answer for a moment, and Jim was about to repeat his question when he seemed to refocus, and turned to face Jim, answering as if nothing had happened.

“That would be appreciated. I am sure your replicator can produce something suitable.”

Selecting food for both of them, he brought it back to table and sat once more across from Spock, setting one of the plates in front of him and keeping the other for himself. 

They ate in silence, although Jim kept opening his mouth to ask why Spock had come to see him again, before changing his mind and returning once more to his food. If Spock noticed, he gave no indication, seemingly absorbed in his own meal, although he was the one to eventually break the silence.

“Are you well, Captain? You are not usually so quiet.”

“A lot on my mind, I guess. You know I hate being sidelined on my own ship. It’s nothing.”

“Humans are a social species, I am sure spending so long without contact with the rest of the crew must be difficult for you as well.”

Jim was startled by the observation, although he knew he shouldn’t have been. Spock was right, he had been going a little crazy with only himself for company when he was so used to the constant company of other people. Still, he hadn’t expected Spock to be the one to catch on to the reason for his restlessness.

“Is that why you’re here then? Worried your captain is lonely?” He was laughing as he took another bite, but Spock was entirely serious when he answered.

“You are not the only one experiencing an unusual amount of isolation at the moment. I had expected it to be restful, but I find that even I have need of periodic companionship.”

Jim had been prepared to make another joke, but in the light of Spock’s confession he found that he no longer had an adequate reply. Spock looked up from his plate and met Jim’s eyes, looking infinitely vulnerable in a way that Jim had never seen him look before.

Jim’s voice was soft when he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Uh, if you’re finished, we can play another round of chess. Unless there’s something else you would rather do.”

For a moment he was afraid Spock was going to turn him down, pretend this conversation had never happened. He braced himself for the moment Spock bolted, retreating back behind his facade of stoicism. He was taken aback when, after a brief hesitation, Spock agreed.

“Chess would be acceptable.”

-

Jim woke with a start, the edges of his nightmare still clinging to his mind, jagged images and a crushing sense of loss. The ever present urge to assure himself of Spock’s wellbeing. 

It was the early hours of the morning, when he would usually be readying for his shift, and an aching restlessness had already made its home in his chest. He thought about trying to sleep longer, but he was already awake and the lingering flashes of his dreams were enough to dissuade him from further rest. Instead he got up and made his way to his desk.

It was the small hours of his final day of quarantine, and he wanted to run through the logs from the week, which he had finally been given access to. Bones had come to check on him the day before and grudgingly agreed that he had shown no symptoms, no sign of being in less than optimal health and that he was probably fine, but still refused to release him early, much to Jim’s irritation. The only comfort was that Spock had been given the same clean bill of health.

Unbidden, Jim’s mind drifted back to his fitful sleep, to the images still tugging at the back of his mind. Spock in sickbay, Spock injured, the science station empty when Jim turned to look for his first officer. The overwhelming sense of terrible loss. 

He shook his head to clear it, and realized that he had unconsciously stood and moved once more to the bathroom, hand hovering in the air less than an inch from the door. It slid open with a hiss, startling Jim, but he pressed on before he could change his mind, before reason could creep in and remind him that his concern was unnecessary and out of line with the concern a captain should have for his subordinate, or even that which a man should feel for his friend.

He knocked on the opposite door, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the early stillness of the day. Part of him hoped he would go unanswered, that this lapse of judgement, or self control, could go unacknowledged. Instead the door slid open, Spock on the other side looking as if he had already been up for hours. He raised an eyebrow, soft curiosity in his eyes.

“How may I help you, Captain?”

For a moment, Jim stood frozen, unsure how to respond in the wake of Spock standing before him, healthy and unharmed. The ceaseless ache in his chest eased, as it always did in Spock’s presence, and he felt a tension he had not been aware of leaving him.

Realizing that Spock was still waiting for a reply, and unsure of what answer he could possibly give, he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Jim.”

Spock’s eyebrow tucked closer to his hairline. “I’m sorry?” 

“Call me Jim. We’re hardly on duty.”

“Well in that case, how can I help you, Jim?”

All at once, Jim felt like a fool. “I- I don’t- It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Spock.” He moved to go, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

“Jim, are you alright?” 

The hand on his arm was warm, the grip firm, and when he met Spock’s gaze he saw only concern. It was too much, more than he could handle with his dreams still turning in his thoughts, and before he could think better of it, he pressed forward, his lips finding Spock’s with a sense of relief so profound he couldn’t regret it. Not when Spock sighed against his mouth, hand moving from Jim’s arm to gently the back of his neck. Not when Spock was kissing him back.

They parted, and Jim leaned his head against Spock’s shoulder. “I’ve been so worried about you, you know. I dreamt I lost you. It was like losing part of myself.”

“I’m right here, Jim. Perfectly safe.”

They stood like that, Jim leaning into Spock, Spock carefully holding him, for an immeasurable moment, before Jim took Spock’s hand and led him back to Jim’s room where they lay together on Jim’s small bed, his head resting on Spock’s chest, his hand over Spock’s side, feeling the beat of his heart. Spock’s hand ran softly through his hair and eventually he fell back to sleep like that, content in the knowledge that Spock was safe, and there with him.  
it’s

**Author's Note:**

> comments appreciated. feel free to hit me up on tumblr at digitalis-obscura, where i yell incoherently about a lot of things at one time.


End file.
